


litoreus

by xladysaya



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, First Meetings, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 15:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17963498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xladysaya/pseuds/xladysaya
Summary: The arrival of Tsukishima Kei to their land should be nothing but a horrible omen, one which the kingdom has dreaded. Kuroo knows the end is near, but he can’t help but think the blond holds an entirely different kind of fate for him.





	litoreus

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh I'm so excited I finally get to post this! This is my fic for the [HQ Mythology Zine](https://twitter.com/HQMythologyZine) and it was such an honor to be involved in this beautiful project! I'm a big classics nerd, so getting to write krtsk with a traditional myth like the fall of Troy...I was geeking out the whole time lol 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy! <3

_"Do you know how much I love you?"_

_"How much?"_

_"More than all the ships on the shore."_

\--

He just sits there, staring out at the waves like he can't wait for them to deliver a thousand plagues. Kuroo feels like he hates him. He feels like he  _should_ hate him, should look at him with anger and rage to rival Ares himself.

But the glares and solemn looks he constantly directs at the back of the blond's head never go acknowledged, or even noticed. The blond doesn't look.

It makes Kuroo feel like he should hate him  _more_ , but the simmering in his gut isn't reminiscent of such a violent emotion, and he wants to plead with the gods to tell him why.

Stone faced and still, Kuroo watches the captive soul wake up at the same time everyday, walk down the hall, and perch himself on the curved couch which overlooks the sea. It's the best view in the palace, one an outsider doesn't deserve, but no one has used it since the blond's abduction.

Too worried. Too certain of impending doom.

All the while, the captive doesn't speak, doesn't show the slightest bit of emotion except for the slightest hint of annoyance when he's forced to eat dinner in the royal hall. Prince Daishou insists, something about manners. Or maybe he just regrets kidnapping the silent beauty altogether.

Captives who don't do  _anything_  don't exactly feel like a prize won. They just feel like another useless possession. And truthfully, Kuroo thinks Tsukishima fits in quite well with the other useless golden heirlooms and purchases stacked and stuffed into the room he's being kept in.

Shiny, beautiful, but forgotten.

Or, so far anyways. For now.

\--

When they first bring Tsukishima to the palace, Kuroo is among the first who sees him. As the head of the royal family's personal guard, it's his job to be aware of everything that comes through the city's unbreakable walls.

They'd protected the city for generations, thick, sturdy, and made out of the finest stone. Many in the guard risked their whole lives because of what those walls stood for, but Kuroo's motivations had been less loyal, less brave.

Kuroo simply wanted to know as much as he could, and listening in on the royal family's gossip and worries is by far the best way to stay updated on the happenings of the world around him.

He knows about wars before the public is even aware of the threat to their peace, knows about engagements and foreign visitors, and when those foreign visitors arrive, he finds out a little more about the world outside the walls.

Maybe it's another reason Tsukishima unsettles him. Kuroo often looks at the waves too, searching.

But, he doesn't always get to daydream. His job entails a lot more, parts he often forgets. It's how he ends up beside the King's throne as Prince Daishou parades in, his smug eyes lingering on Kuroo for no more than a moment. Like he's nothing. Kuroo tries not to roll his eyes.

Besides, Daishou is not the main attraction, not to him.

So while Daishou's parents are immediately in an uproar, questions and demands flying as their son uselessly attempts to explain himself, Kuroo's grip on his spear tightens, and the world quiets, like he's Orpheus on his way to the underworld. Everything tunnels around the source of what Kuroo knows is a bad omen, but an alluring one. Aren't they always?

Yet, Kuroo can't say why he thinks that. It's intuition, and his lack of real information leaves him grasping.

For Kuroo, it's a surprise, something so rare for him these days.

At first glance, he thinks Tsukishima is a visiting royal, or maybe a god in disguise, with how smoothly he walks in, eyes forward. The guards circling him, who might usually drag a captive in, or stay locked close to them, are as far from Tsukishima's person as they can be without looking fearful.

The blond's robes are immediately recognizable as someone of Ushijima Wakatoshi's city, across the great sea, streaks of deep purples dispersed through white wisps of fabric which fall off him like water.

Hadn't Ushijima recently taken a husband? A husband, rumored to be of the heavens, the most beautiful in the world...

Kuroo immediately knows his assumptions are correct.

It’s as if a dark cloud has settled over him, competing with the madness in his heart. Work of the gods, it must be, warring with his emotions.

Tsukishima commands the space, eyes forward, emotionless and akin to bronze armor. Tough, golden-brown, but stronger.

It is the first and only time his eyes meet Kuroo's in the first month of their acquaintance, and they widen almost imperceptibly, before they fix themselves on the void in front of him. But Kuroo, true to his nature, sees everything.

Kuroo is paralyzed, and he refuses to admit it. The yells around him fade back in, too quick and too loud.

"What were you thinking?" The King shouts, along with the warnings, more admonishments.

Daishou seems to hear none of it, so entranced.

Maybe Kuroo can't blame him, the charmed look in his eyes is not Daishou, but it's far too late for that observation.

"Do you know what will happen if Ushijima sends his fleet  _here_?" The King cries out. It shakes the palace. Slaves and guards quiver the same, but Kuroo stands as statue like as ever.

Yes. He knows.

All-out war, a one to leave their nation in the nothing but ash.

Daishou's spirit is not bendable though, as it never was, even without the influence of divinities. A clever prince, but a selfish one.

"Aphrodite promised him to me, so I took him." It's all he says.

Daishou's excuse is also all he apparently  _needs_ , and his parents stare, slack-jawed as he walks away briskly, new lover in tow. Kuroo's eyes do not leave Tsukisima's form, not when the queen's cries ring out into the room, and not when the guards already run about, muttering about defense and training and things Kuroo knows will not help.

The end has begun.

\--

 

The first time they speak, it's an accident.

Kuroo is tasked with watching over Tsukishima for whatever reason, as if he'd actually try to escape the locked up palace, the open shores.

He'd never get past the wall.

Kuroo takes the job begrudgingly though, not questioning the king's motives, or Daishou's absence. Funny, how tired the prince had quickly become of his prize.

Though, with how often Tsukishima moves, which is little to not at all, it's no wonder he'd become little more than an object in everyone's eyes.

Not Kuroo's. To Kuroo, he's still a mystery.

Kuroo doesn't even know if Daishou has laid a hand on him, but part of him feels like that might be the reason Tsukishima doesn't move from his perch on the balcony very often. If he stays stone still, no one will notice him, no one will touch him.

There's no whining, no begging to go home, not even wailing up to the heavens over his cursed fate. Because surely, Tsukishima must know what's to come as well as everyone else. He watches the shore enough, glaring out to the sea as if he'd fight Poseidon himself. Whether he wishes for the fleet of Ushijima's soldiers to arrive faster or not...Kuroo isn't sure.

For a while, he believed it to be the former, but...

Maybe Tsukishima just doesn't care.

Not like it matters, Kuroo already dreads the inevitable.

Again, he tries to make hatred bloom in his veins as he stares at Tsukishima's back, unblemished and pale like the moon.

Tsukishima is beautiful, there's no mistake there. Does he know it? Does he agree?

Kuroo won't ask. He only curses the fact, because if Tsukishima wasn't so beautiful, none of this would be happening.

Though, Kuroo knows it isn't his fault. Nothing feels like anyone's fault in this day and age. They're all puppets.

Which is why Kuroo shouldn't be so concerned.

The memory of Tsukishima's eyes continues to fill his brain though, an itch he knows he mustn't scratch. He's never felt this compelled before, this thrown off.

If he weren't the most capable guard, he might've asked to switch. He can't sacrifice his pride and honor like that though, over something seemingly unimportant.

He has his duty, but his eyes don't leave Tsukishima's form even as he reminds himself of that.

The blond must be cold, with the coastal air washing over his bare shoulders, but he doesn't reach for a blanket. Just like how he'll barely touch food or drink.

Kuroo wonders if he sleeps. He always faces the wall, so Kuroo can't see.

Kuroo sighs to himself, eyeing the quilt near the bed. If Tsukishima drops dead from the cold, it will be on Kuroo's shoulders.

With the silence of someone trained in combat all his life, Kuroo grabs the blanket, taking long, measured steps towards the luxurious couch where Tsukishima lounges. Or, lounges might be a strong word.

Tsukishima always makes sure to sit on the edge, at one end, in the most uncomfortable position he can manage.

Kuroo tries to ignore the way his heart races with each step, until he reaches Tsukishima's side.

Then, he hears it, finally hears  _something_ from the vocal chords crafted by the gods. It starts out mumbled, words he cannot hear or make sense of, but the end. The end.

“…this is Troy, but Troy and we, are perished.”

His blood is as cold as the depths.

It’s like a song, a long lament chopped up and butchered, belonging to the wrong mouth. Kuroo swears he’s heard it before, but that’s impossible.

When Kuroo can't hold back a gasp, Tsukishima jumps, the most he's moved in a long time, and then Kuroo is getting an eyeful of honey-brown again. It stills his everything. Those eyes, powerful; they hold so much, while trying not to give anything away.

Tsukishima's expression morphs into shock, fear, and then....nothing, all in the span of a few seconds. His usual, neutral face returns, like he truly is some sort of porcelain sculpture.

But Kuroo saw. Kuroo knows.

"W-what?" Tsukishima says, and then he's glaring, more at himself than Kuroo. He couldn't keep his voice under control, his steadiness slipping like water off the far rocks.

There's a lot Kuroo can say, things he can pry open to take the information he wants. He's always been especially skilled at that. But something about Tsukishima feels so defeated, so tired, Kuroo worries he'll drain his entire life force with the simplest question.

Something in his heart tells him it's not the right time, and that scares him, because it means more times are ahead.

Who is Tsukishima really? What is he meant to be?

He doesn't know if he wants the answer, but his mind can't help but yearn.

But instead of spilling all of that out like the Scamander, Kuroo hands him the thick blanket. "You're cold. Here."

It sounds too stiff and cut up to belong to Kuroo, and he blinks twice, like maybe someone else had replaced him. No, that's his voice alright.

Part of him, for whatever reason, makes him hold his breath as Tsukishima eyes scan him, flicking between his face and the blanket in his hand. They feel like they could dissect everything, pull it apart, like an oracle; Kuroo stays strong in the face of it.

Then, Tsukishima’s hands, long and delicate, dig into the plush fabric, pulling it to his chest. The relief is obvious, from the greedy way Tsukishima wraps it around himself. Suddenly, he's not an unfeeling, untouchable product of the heavens. He's like a child, or an orphan, left out in the streets.

Kuroo walks away, because he can't take it, doesn't even know why.

"Thank you," he hears Tsukishima whisper, and Kuroo doesn't turn back. He's afraid of what he might do if he does. 

\--

Afterwards, things change, and it's easy, too easy. Kuroo doesn't resist watching or thinking about Tsukishima anymore, for reasons he can't explain.

Among other things.

Kuroo sneaks Tsukishima sweet fruits from the royal hall, wine from the guard stores. He leaves them out so no one has to see him actually approach Tsukishima, but the blond has to know it's him. It's a strange thing, seeing Tsukishima eat. The juice from the ripe fruit drips down his chin, like he's ravenous, and it scares Kuroo to think how human he actually is.

For a while, these favors are how they communicate.

In return, Tsukishima doesn't cause trouble, as if he ever did in the first place.

It should be a boring job for him, tedious and not worth his time. Yet, Kuroo becomes good at reading into the blond's expressions; he thinks nothing of it.

Until this hobby becomes an obsession, unfolding into unyielding admiration. The reflection of fire and ash in those godly eyes. The fate they both know is coming.

It’s as clear as the night sky, shining like the moon.

No matter how withdrawn and shade-like Tsukishima walks down the halls, like he could go through a wall or disappear with the morning mist, it’s there. No matter how he sits silent at dinner, eyes downcast. No matter how hard he tries and tries to suffocate it, those eyes are as alive as a calf before slaughter.

The first time Kuroo catches it, they're in the great hall. The King is entertaining some allies from across the mountains, in hopes that he can depend on their aid when Ushijima's forces arrive.

It's not an 'if' anymore.

The conversation doesn't look to be going well, but Kuroo only catches glimpses of it. Instead, he's watching Tsukishima's nose as it scrunches up, his gaze piercing Daishou's form as he meanders about the room, entertaining princesses as best he can.

It's not jealousy. No, Kuroo knows better. He's never seen a trace of affection in Tsukishima's eyes, can scarcely imagine what it would be like. An illusion maybe, some trick of Aphrodite.

But there are no tricks here.

Kuroo follows Tsukishima's line of sight, and Kuroo can't fault him. Daishou is not a lecherous man, but he is ignorant. He's grinning and flouncing, unaware that soon everything around him might fall to ruin. It angers Kuroo more than he's allowed to admit, more than he's allowed himself to think in all his time as a guard.

It's his job to serve this family. No ill will can be detectable.

He's never let himself openly glare and scowl at Daishou the way Tsukishima is. If anything, it's Kuroo who has the right to ask the blond why.

Yet, Tsukishima's mouth opens anyways from where he's seated in the corner, where only Kuroo can hear. The first line of clear, solid syllables Kuroo has ever heard from him. It makes him startle, pathetic. "You don't like him."

Like a definite observation, a fact.

Kuroo tries to keep his face as stony and unfeeling as possible, keeping back his rebuke from being too loud and too sudden. Yet, Kuroo had never been and never would be a liar. In these situations, he has to talk himself farther and farther away from the depths of truth. "He is the prince, and I'm one of the family's guards."

It should've been left at that, a clear communication.

He learns more and more about Tsukishima every moment though. The fierceness there, the playfulness.

Kuroo is not often mistaken, and this is further proof of it.

"So you do like him?" Tsukishima asks, voice carrying a little bounce, false ignorance and confusion wrapped up like a temple offering. Convincing.

Again, Kuroo keeps his eyes trained on the crowd, but Tsukishima shines like the sun in his periphery. "I'm not in a position to answer that question."

"Hm, that's a no," Tsukishima whispers, but the teasing tone isn't malicious. Kuroo doesn't have a word for it actually. It's a fact again, like Kuroo intrigues him, a puzzle to be solved.

The gaze is starting to burn the side of his face, but the traitor in his soul hopes it doesn't end.

"What about your job, do you like that?" Tsukishima asks then, the genuine curiosity so sheltered and soft, Kuroo wants to be wrapped in it.

The frustration of that shows, the war inside him, and it spills and stains Kuroo's expression. He's lost the fight.

"Why do you get to ask all the questions?" He says, turning to the blond. He's wearing their colors now; Kuroo had stolen him new robes a few days prior, the red and gold so brilliant on pale skin.

Tsukishima's stare is unnerving, pulling Kuroo apart, finding the constellations and connections underneath his skin. It's like Kuroo is something to be found, to be marveled at. "Because I have questions to ask, and you're easy to read," Tsukishima says, and it's an invitation almost.

Maybe he had caught Kuroo's stares before, knew the curiosity lurking in Kuroo's mind. Somehow, Kuroo feels it's mutual. He's got no real proof of it, other than this instance, but it screams at him.

Tsukishima has simply been the first to indulge in finding out more about Kuroo, and now those eyes are begging Kuroo to catch up before it's too late.

"That so?" Kuroo whispers, and the ghost of a smirk graces his lips. It makes him feel powerful, the way Tsukishima's breathing stutters a bit. "And pray tell, what else have you noticed?"

"You stare at me a lot."

A shameless answer, on its own. But the tone, the helplessness. Kuroo's grip tightens on his sword. 

Kuroo swallows thickly. Tsukishima really isn't trying to be coy or hide from the truth brewing between them. Maybe he realizes it's pointless. Soon, all vice and virtue, the true nature of all, will spill like blood on a battlefield, glowing in the form of war's spoils.

He doesn't communicate that, because he's sure Tsukishima feels it. Instead, he tries to act like this is normal courtship, a lighthearted, playful conversation from some other life. "Everyone stares at you."

Kuroo peeks, and in the corner of his eye, Tsukishima's blush is brilliant in hue. If he got a full eyeful, he wonders how far gone he'd be.

"Yes, like they want to throw me to the wilds," Tsukishima says, and there's humor there. Ah, so he does know of his reputation. "You look at me…."

He stops then, unsure, hesitant, and Kuroo forces himself to not peek again.

"I don't know why you look at me," Tsukishima finishes, his whisper parched and cracked around the edges. Yearning.

Why Kuroo keeps this charade up, he doesn't know. Maybe it's fun, and he hasn't had fun in a long time. "You know you are rumored to be the most beautiful human in existence, ever thought about that?"

This is the only time he's seen a rumor hold its weight in truth.

He can't see Tsukishima, but he feels the sag of his shoulders, the regret of...something. Having been born, perhaps. Beauty is a curse in this case.

"People believe whatever they want to believe. I don't think that's why you do it either," Tsukishima finishes, not letting Kuroo go.

And Kuroo, despite all his dread for the future, is grateful. "What if I told you I didn't know either?"

Tsukishima huffs a laugh, like music, too quiet underneath fake cheers and conversation. "Then, I would believe you."

\--

Kuroo steps off the deep end far earlier than he'd like to admit. In the future, he'll know it was after that one, useless conversation, when Tsukishima looked at Kuroo the way one might look at an altar.

A safe place, sacred.

"Do you miss him?" Kuroo asks one night, when he's supposed to be standing guard. Tsukishima's chambers are dark, the blond is lying on his bed, another sleepless night.

It's a little different though this time, Tsukishima faces Kuroo, who sits on the floor beside the bed, head leaning on the plush silks.

"Hm?" Tsukishima's brow furrows, but his eyes don't leave Kuroo's, their hands inches from each other. But they don't cross into those waters quite yet.

Kuroo needs to remember how to breath above water first, before taking the plunge.

His throat feels scratchy as he forces out the words, they feel diseased somehow. "Your husband."

Tsukishima looks even more perturbed, like he'd forgotten as well. It makes Kuroo's heart do something strange, forbidden.

Tsukishima only says one thing before the conversation moves on, and it's all Kuroo needs, for it speaks volumes. "We never even shared a bed."

Kuroo can't help it, he dives.

\--

Tsukishima finally asks to go outside the palace one day, to the hilltop grasses which overlook the river, the entire island in view. They're a popular spot usually, but now...

The whole kingdom seems to be in lockdown, preparing.

Kuroo can't find it in himself to care anymore; he follows Tsukishima, and he feels like he'll always follow Tsukishima.

It's a peculiar thing to realize, marching behind the blond as his sheer robes billow out in the wind. His hair is longer, cleaner, and there's a shine in his skin which wasn't there when he first arrived.

Kuroo could blame it on the rich oils the servants had provided him, but he believes it's something else too. Mostly because he also feels it.

A sick, perverted happiness, on the eve of the apocalypse.

Tsukishima turns to him, calling him over expectantly.

"No one can see us here," he calls, because after all those nights of whispers and conversations, he knows how Kuroo worries.

And in return, Kuroo doesn't resist anymore, doesn't fight his own instincts.

He catches up, and the only regret he has is not taking his time to savor the image in front of him. The sunset illuminates Tsukishima in ways Kuroo didn't think were possible. Bright orange, fiery red, they all wrap around him like tendrils, a garment from Helios himself.

"Why did you want to come out here?" Kuroo asks, eons after they've settled in, his hand finally curled around Tsukishima's.

It's the first time they've really touched, which is unreal to think of. Kuroo is prepared to shed his armor for this man already, to devote himself completely.

Tsukishima's hand is warm in his, and he squeezes tighter.

Tsukishima leans his head on Kuroo shoulder, and they watch the sun lower, and Kuroo vaguely thinks the moon will suit the blond just as well.

"I wanted to see the sky, while it's still clear," Tsukishima whispers, and Kuroo kisses the top of his head.

Suddenly, he appreciates the earth a lot more, for letting Tsukishima walk on it.

\--

Kuroo won't allow himself within ten feet of Tsukishima's bed after that; he knows it's futile, his heart and his body craves, but he..he still has a job.

Even still, his resolve doesn't stand a chance. A job means little with no king. Or maybe he just tells himself that, his hands fumbling with his garments, his sword clanging to the floor as his eyes roam the naked body in front of him.

The look the blond is giving him is making his control crumble like dirt fortresses, and before Kuroo knows it, he's wrapped up in Tsukishima in every way he's ever dreamed.

When it's over, all he can think of is how he wishes it to be the same in death.

\--

One day, when they're at the beach, Kuroo says as much, no urge to hold back.

Tsukishima's hand curls over his own, and he stares out at the sea.

"We will be."

\--

They're out by the grasses again when they see them on the horizon.

Tsukishima is messing with Kuroo's hair to no avail, that heavenly face stuck in concentration as he tries to smooth it out.

He doesn't succeed.

Kuroo laughs at the blond's pout, pulling him down into the fresh flowers. He loves when the dew makes the tips of Tsukishima's hair gleam in the sun.

He kisses his neck, bathes in the fresh scent of oils and expensive robes, of Tsukishima himself.

It's paradise on earth, he's sure. No amount of battlefield glory or sacrifices to the gods would get Kuroo any place better.

And it's as he thinks those thoughts, as he lets the happiness wash over him, that he feels Tsukishima tense in his arms.

He's not surprised. It would be too good to be true, if this lasted forever.

There must be hundreds of ships, small, insignificant blobs slowly growing larger on the vast waters. How long they've been traveling to get here, Kuroo can only imagine, and he knows they'll stay as long as they need. As they want.

Until the last drops of life and wealth are drained from the land.

"Are you afraid?" Kuroo asks, because there's not much else to say. He can hear the warning cries ring out from the palace, he knows he should be moving too, getting Tsukishima to a high tower.

He will, he promises, but right now...

"Of the inevitable." Tsukishima says, but again, it's hardly a question. "I didn't used to be."

It hits so close to home, and he wishes he'd looked at Tsukishima a little longer when the sun rose that morning, savored the clear sky he'll miss so much. The grass...

"Are you afraid, Kei?" Kuroo asks again, because he only ever wants the truth from those perfect lips, the ones he's kissed red and swollen.

Tsukishima's hands are trembling, but they find Kuroo's anyways, clasping and desperate.

Tsukishima's whisper is scared and adoring enough to stay with Kuroo forever, to keep him alive no matter what. He grabs Tsukishima's face, and he makes their kiss last as long as he can.

_"Now I am."_

\--

They don't make it to the safe room, to Tsukishima's chambers, the place where Kuroo made his favorite memories.

Tsukishima's hand tugs him in another direction, and like Kuroo is meant to, he follows, whether it's towards the sea or the hills.

As the palace gets smaller behind him, the cries growing louder, the gate of the city wall slams closed. Kuroo reminds himself that this is where he grew up, where he was raised, and he bids it farewell.

His city, fated to fall...

He might not escape that prophecy, he and Tsukishima both. But they're willing to try, and even if they fail, Kuroo knows their hands will stay clasped.

Together, for eternity.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are always appreciated, and please check out all the other beautiful fics in this zine!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/itsloveuasshole)


End file.
